


Is it worth all of this?

by Sally_the_Sunflower



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, NO COMFORT AT ALL, Post Third Kinslaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25289074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally_the_Sunflower/pseuds/Sally_the_Sunflower
Summary: Following the third kinslaying, Maglor finds himself seated across from two terrified children and he's reminded that this isn't the only horror that the Oath has wrought.(Or, in less serious wording, Maglor has a bit of a breakdown for himself)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	Is it worth all of this?

They are small. Very small. Practically still babies. Guilt and grief mingle and writhe deep in Maglor's stomach as he looks at them. The battle is over, the Silmarils are lost to them once more and the blood-lust and urgency stirred by the Oath are beginning to fade. Now, he just feels sick. Maedhros is outside with their people. Maglor should probably be outside too. There is work still to be done. But he is so tired and these children are so small and they have already lost everything and he is part of what took it all away and... He feels sick.

The twin brothers cling to each other and watch him carefully. They are quiet but their tear-stained cheeks and reddened eyes tell him that this is only a recent development _. Children should not be this quiet,_ Maglor thinks to himself, _especially siblings._ He and his siblings had never been quiet. Their home had always been full of noise. Laughter. Arguing. Life could never be dull when you have six siblings. _One, now_ he tells himself. Their number has been cut again. The twins are gone now too. It is just himself and Maedhros left of their family.

And now he’s thinking about Maedhros and lost twins, about the look of sheer horror on his brother’s face when he had learned what Celegorm’s people had done, about the hollow expression he wore as he returned from the forest empty-handed...It had been days before Maedhros would speak again. A fresh wave of guilt washes over Maglor. They too had been so small...

Maglor continues to watch the children just as they continue to watch him. The silence in the tent is oppressive, almost tangible. Lost children and lost brothers clutter Maglor's thoughts. Everywhere his mind turns it encounters tears and blood and grief. His hands are far from clean. One of the children clings a little tighter to his brother. He looks like he might start crying again. Maglor's chest constricts at the sight. He wants nothing more than to take them into his arms and hold them close and tell them that everything will be alright, but he knows that any sudden movement towards them would probably do more harm than good.

_Maybe I am the one who needs to be held close and told comforting lies? Where is Maedhros? These two have each other. Where is_ my _brother? Can the Oath and the planning and the fighting not wait for even one fucking moment? Why must he always hide in his work?_ Hot, angry tears fall before he has a chance to try stop them. His cheeks burn with shame as he sits there, crying for himself in front of the children whose lives he's just helped to ruin. He hides his face in his hands and weeps.

Maglor feels sick and he feels tired and he feels _old_. His life in Valinor feels like an eternity ago. So much has happened since then. He would take much of it back if he could. _Well, father, were your precious Silmarils worth all of this?_ For the first time, Maglor finds that he is glad that his father is not around. He fears what his answer to such a question would be.

But Maglor knows what his own answer is: no. No, they most certainly are not worth this. They are not worth the loss of five of his brothers. They are not worth the two terrified faces that cower away from him on the other side of the tent. They are not worth the death and destruction that he and his brothers have spread. And they are not worth whatever horrors still await him and Maedhros in the future. They are worth none of those things, and yet he feels the pull of the Oath. He knows that he will do whatever needs to be done to retrieve them. No matter how much he longs to resist, he knows he cannot escape.

There is nothing he can do but weep, shamed, while two frightened and confused faces watch on.


End file.
